To þe prouest he spak, & bed him his homage,
His oth þat he ne brak, he left in his ostage
& hise childre tuo, & suore him his leaute,
Tille Inglond suld he go, to spie ilk a cuntre,
Tille þe kyng suld he say, þat he of prison fled,
He wist non sikerer way, for socour tille him sped.
þe prouest als tite to Thomas þerfor him bond,
& granted him with scrite tuo hundreth pounde of lond,
& Thomas trouht him plight, & suore on þe messe,
Of Inglond alle þe right, & Wales more & lesse,
& of Scotlond alle þe men, þat were of pris,
Suld enclyn & falle to Philip fitz Lowys.
Now gos þis Thomas, his treson to purchace,
Bot [Id est, lo! how.] how Edward was warned þorgh [Adde, grace.] Gode's.
Thomas tille Inglond com to kyng & said,
Bi nyght he skapid of bond of prison þer he was laid,
For his luf to haue, suilk perille on him drouh,
& þat he vouched saue for his luf wele inouh.
þe kyng tille him þerfore did grete curteysie,
Wynnyng for his lore he gaf him largelie.
NOW gos Turbeuile, & serchis day bi day,
To do þe kyng a gile, how & whan he may.
He serchis alle þe coste, where were best comyng,
To bring in Frankis oste, forto tak our kyng.
